Well, it was a Christmas miracle! An honest to God CHRISTMAS MIRACLE! Shortly after posting my last blog entry, I got the phone call I had been waiting for: THE OPERA SLIPPPERS WERE MINE! I’d like to imagine the staff of Ralph Lauren had been huddled around their computer monitors, reading the WOW Report and clucking amongst themselves: “Oh, that poor boy! He must really NEED them! Let’s move him to the top of the list!” But I think it has more to do with the fact that I spent a buttload of money there last year, and because I have a tendancy to grasp onto the sales clerk’s hand and moan like a woman in labor over all the merchandise, I think they remembered me.
And so even though the slippers set me back 700 bucks, they were mine, and I had a wonderful Christmas, yes I did. Too bad everyone else got macaroni art from me, as I was WAY TOO BROKE to afford any fancy store-bought gifts. OH WELL. There’s always next year.
Now, onto the business at hand. With the New Year already come and gone, I’m not going to bore you with some dry-as-toast best-and-worst list, or any silly New Year’s resolutions I have no intention of keeping. I thought instead I would just jot down my death pool candidates to get the ball rolling. Feel free to add your own, afterwards.
THE “NIXED IN ‘O6” LIST
NANCY REAGAN: I had hoped that after nobly sitting by Ronnie’s side for 10 years, dutifully wiping his drool and changing his nappies, that she would emerge from her self-imposed social exile with a bang after he died. Images of her doing coke with Lindsay and sucking off Stavros while Paris was in the other room danced in my head. But no. I think she’s going to begin failing this year and die sometime around Christmas.
ESTELLE GETTY: Speaking of drool and soiled nappies…. (Oh my God, I’m going to Hell.)
LIZ SMITH: The old goat can’t go on forever. She just can’t. Please God, make her stop. Call her home. And I have a suggestion for when she does. Let me just just float this replacement out there: Michael Musto.
PHYLLIS DILLER: It’s just a sad feeling I have.
MICKEY ROONEY: And I was just jerking off to him the other day. You know, that part in Love Finds Andy Hardy where he and Polly were at the community pool dicussing what she’s going to wear to the big dance. And his nipples were the size of pancakes.
PHILIP JOHNSON: Or is he already dead? Whatever. What a great old queen, huh?
BROOKE ASTOR: Long live the Queen. God seems to have rewarded her bountiful deeds with a long and happy life. But she’s 103, for pity’s sake, something’s got to give SOON.
ED McMAHON: Who’s at the door? Publishers Sweepstakes? NO! IT’S DEATH!
FARLEY GRANGER: Only the handsomest actor EVER.
ANGIE DICKINSON: We haven’t heard from her in a long time. That’s never a good sign. I think she’s probably in a forgotten corner somewhere, drooling with. . .
. . . ZSA ZSA GABOR: It’s just time, bitch. There’s nothing left to milk. Your audience has deserted you for your ex-step-great-granddaughter, Paris Hilton.
And lastly, I’m afraid to even say it, it’s just too ghoulish. I can’t even bring myself to write the name. But, I think it’s true. I think it’s gonna happen. He’s not going to make it. Eeesh. OK. THIS GUY. OMG, I’m sorry I printed that.
NEXT WAVE: These are the ones who are teetering towards the Big Sleep but have another year or two to putter out: CHARLETON HESTON, LAUREN BACALL, NORMAN MAILER, and TONY BENNETT.
MY WILD CARD: EMINEM. I just have this feeling. Have you SEEN his latest video? I think he’s going to Cobain himself. It’s just a shame that it will a happen a beat too late in his career – where we’ve already seen the promise fizzle out.
– James St. James
(Photo: Farley Granger and Zsa Zsa Gabor in 1953’s Story of Three Loves)